rooftop | OPEN POST ( !!! )

[ With a wee nod, he settles into the desk chair, sorting two fingers for each of them and passing a drink to Peggy. Seeing as she suggested whisky, he doesn't doubt that she wants it straight. The compliment and light tease at Jemma wins a full smile, too. Can't help but be pleased 'cause she's certainly lovely and far too keen, especially when it comes to all things SHIELD.

He'll revisit the autograph bit (if only because he sort of wants to snag one for Jemma's birthday) before they send Carter back in time. Otherwise, the subject of her fame isn't of particular interest. She's impressive, undeniably so, but he's never been the awestruck type. ]

The best, as time travellers go.

[ It sounds very H.G. Wells that way, doesn't it? More like a grand romp than an extended nightmare. Fitz takes a sip, savouring the taste. ]

Wow. [ It's the good stuff, and Hunter will be insufferable when he learns it was opened without him, so he really ought to enjoy it. ] You might owe me for this one, Agent Carter.

[ The drink, that is. He's only taking the mick. ]

[ Mentioning Jemma Simmons elicits the first smile she's seen out of the man, which speaks volumes for the relationship the two of them share — and the soft spot he holds for her. And Peggy does mean it about the other woman; in fact, she's thrilled that SHIELD goes on to recruit women in the field and the lab. It won't do to have her and Rose Roberts as the sole female operatives in the SSR and she's always had a mind to change that. Seems that she does.

Still, all that marvel is buried under bone-deep weariness over the mess her life has become since stumbling through that warehouse. Fitz may savour his drink but she takes a more generous sip (half, she drinks about half of her glass) and relishes the burn with a flutter of lashes, a soft and satisfied hum at the back of her throat. Bloody hell, that is good. ]

Not with an autograph, I hope. [ Absurd, her tone seems to imply. She sits back against the cold metal wall, feeling impossibly out of place in the unforgiving modernity of the room. She has, at least, kicked off her heels. ] Thank you for this. I doubt it will do this headache any favours, but I'm glad to pretend it does.

[ She considers him a moment, a flicker of dark eyes, before adding, ]

You seem to be taking this all in stride.

[ He notes the easy slug and, oof, he's impressed. That's drunk like a Scot, to be sure. Can't even find it in himself to be bothered, after all she weathered from himself and his colleagues over the course of the day. He leans forward, elbows propped on his thighs. His eyes spark with amusement, privately intent on going back for the autograph, yes, though not right now.

A cursory glance around the room tells him that they should see what they can find in the way of more...vintage bits and bobs. Carter always had a consistent look, in all the photos and records. He wonders if she's as particular as he is.

Taking it in stride, yeah, sure. Suppose that's the case, when he'd been more concerned with protocol than Peggy fucking Carter. ]

Well. [ I know what it's like to have everyone looking at you. Not for reasons half so flattering, mind you, but but but — ]

You're easier to handle than my grandson. [ he says simply, like that isn't a surprising statement for a man of his age and demeanour. ] Sorry, grandgoon. [ pulling a face. ] He's from the future. [ and he's the worst is implied by the helpless shake of his head and wave of his hand. ] Another parcel delivered via the Monolith.

[ Parcel, not gift. Jesus Christ. ]

[ Drunk like a true Scot but not pissed like one until maybe halfway through that bottle. Or all of it. She did cut her teeth on knocking back drinks with her brother and then with the Commandos — builds up a certain tolerance. Something to keep the bombs and blizzards at bay when foxholes weren't enough. Peggy's brows pop up at the mention of a grandson from the future and her eyes follow suit, rolling skyward.

God, sometimes she misses the war. Things were simpler then. ]

Never a dull day. [ A rift split through the reality of space and time, a Monolith that toys with the same interdimensionary rules. Why not? Isn't this what she signed up for in 1942? ] Although back in mine, we worried about the Russians in between our more unusual cases. Still, both things have involved nuclear warheads as of late.

[ She cuts her gaze back over to Fitz, voice still as idle, as if this was the usual sort of fireside chat. ]

Is that why this place was built? We're not still worried about that, are we, on top of people dropping in left and right from all over the past and future?

Edited 2018-09-15 18:54 (UTC)

[ Pity Deke isn't here to prove Fitz's point with his... everything. Still, props for handling the grandson tidbit well. Yet another step away from normality, that is, and there's no coming back from it. Belatedly, it occurs to Fitz that there is another Agent Carter in the SHIELD database, along with records of Carter's own children. Maybe his reveal will soften the inevitable blow.

— The Russians, Jesus, that startles a laugh out of him. ]

Even in 2018, it's sometimes still the Russians. [ Shoutout to Anton Ivanov. Another swig of his drink. ] But, yeah, no. This was built to protect high-level staff during the Hydrogen Wave Crisis in the 70s. [ He raps his knuckles on the metal desk, anchored to the ground. ] And to withstand any possible cataclysmic events. Meteorological disaster, nuclear catastrophe, alien invasion. It's a bunker, basically. Filed under Project Reclamation, if you want to read up on it.

[ lifting his glass in a cheers-like gesture. He's warming up to this discussion — to her. ]

I'll have an ID card for you tomorrow, by the way. Full clearance.

[ SHIELD's too small these days for bureaucracy to get in the way. If Coulson and May okay something, it happens. ]

Edited (nitpicks!!) 2018-09-15 19:34 (UTC)

[ He references a crisis that occurs thirty years after her present and tosses in the casual mention of alien invasion alongside it. Maybe it seems she's handling each outlandish thing dropped into her lap because she has heard so much in such a short amount of time that they're just — barely registering. Enough to be heard and filed away for later perusal with none of it truly rocking her to her core, except for the news about Steve.

So she nods along to what he says, huffing out a breath as she looks down at the half-empty glass balanced on her knee. Full clearance. Her smile is quiet and more than a little wry. ]

I'm flattered by your trust in me.

[ It isn't entirely mutual. Not yet. But she doesn't have to say that. She still isn't sure what she can believe, not without seeing it for her own eyes or hearing it from someone she truly knows. (Like Steve.) But what they offer her is all the truth she has, so she must accept it for now. ]

A bunker, [ she repeats on a soft outbreath. It almost sounds — disappointed. Or sad. She takes a more measured sip from her glass, running a thumb down the side in an absent gesture. ] Some things never change. I'd hoped they would.

[ Is it trust, when Peggy Carter has simply earned the right to access anything SHIELD does? It's not not trust. They have the privilege of hindsight, so they assume she won't do anything like, say, sell them out to HYDRA remnants.

With her admission, the mood drops. He feels that hopelessness deep in his chest, spidering out through his veins whenever he isn't actively pushing it down. Things only get worse. The Inhuman crisis, the LMDs, the Framework, the Kree. There's always something clawing at them, tearing them apart, as if the split between the Avengers hasn't already shown how mad it is to let anything divide the world.

He tips his head, dragging his thoughts back to the now. ]

We're still here, though. [ Jemma would have something brighter to say, forward-looking and sure. Fitz barely feels certain of the present. ] That's a victory, too.

[ Fitz meters out hope in small doses, when he only has so much to offer. ]

[ The mood drops and she feels it acutely and reprimands herself for it. She isn't ordinarily so maudlin (only she is, isn't she, in the years after the war, when no one is looking) and it's unfair of her to bring it here — this distant future she knows very little about. They have their reasons to hide away from the world. She understands it, a little; part and parcel of the life they lead, isn't it? Espionage.

We're still here, though. Peggy smiles briefly at her glass. Does he mean SHIELD or humanity? Both could apply, she supposes. ]

Yes, it is.

[ She lets the silence filter in between them and she polishes off the last slip of whisky in her glass before helping herself to a refill. It's already settling warmly in her empty stomach, she can feel the tension in her shoulders lose its edge, but nothing about her bearing suggests it. ]

So, Agent Fitz, [ she begins once she's settled back into place, voice distinctly more casual. ] You have a grandson, is that right?

[ As the resident self-pitying and introspective agent, Fitz accepts her variable mood. It's to expected, out-of-time, and separated from your loved ones. His welcome was far from smooth and even the other agents were a tad frantic.

Her shift in topic is but a marginal improvement. He downs his glass and reaches out for her to pass the bottle. ]

I have. [ measured, ] A Deke. He's a handful and half. [ fitz, he's a highly intelligent and keen young man. then, utterly dour — ] I expect he'll be back from assignment tomorrow and nosing around you.

[ like an untrained puppy. ]

[ She just barely stops herself from making a face at that tidbit of information, although it's a near thing. ]

Well, how different could it be from today, really.

[ Barely restrained doesn't mean she can hold off on the snark altogether. No, that's not fair, either; she suspects they haven't told her everything about how much he means to this present world, but she's gleaned enough. She's somehow made it into the annals of influential historical figures before the 21st Century and she's reaping the benefits of it now — in a way. Underground bunker being what it is and all.

Peggy exhales that's neither sigh nor laugh but somehow straddles the line between both then flicks her gaze over the man in front of her. It's assessing, not overly probing. But she still says, before taking a sip: ]

What don't you like about him?

[ Another fair point, agent. Fitz scrunches his features. ]

He's — [ you can't just ask what he doesn't like about it deke!!! ] — just — the worst. Awkward. Keen. [ Sound familiar? ] And nosy. Always interrupting.

[ It's called being friendly, grandpa. ]

[ His answer doesn't elicit an outright laugh (because it takes a bit of doing to get one out of her and they are still fresh acquaintances here) but she smiles briefly around her mouthful of whisky. No, they don't know each other very well, but the way he fumbles his answer is telling.

It is certainly a curious and likely frustrating situation to be in all around, people dropping in and out of their respective time streams. A future grandchild! (Does she have any out there in the world? Good Lord.) But Fitz's answer carries less heat than she expected. ]

Sounds to me as though he's simply... young. Careful, agent, [ she says mildly. She is absolutely amused, but that could just be a comfortable warmth from the drink, too. ] You're starting to sound about as old as my calendar years.

Edited 2018-10-24 10:56 (UTC)

[ Events that fall under "improbable to the point of being impossible and yet", alongside ghost dimensions and Asgardian enchantresses: Agent Peggy Carter reading him for filth.

He coughs on his drink, caught off guard by how swiftly her mild advice turned wry. Her observations about Deke are astute, in some ways. Despite his years and experience of trauma, he shares the energy of a younger Fitz, who weathered troubled times with less wonder. ]

Yeah, well. [ There's no disputing that, even without the cardigans. ] Means I'll never outgrow my personality.

Edited 2018-10-24 11:15 (UTC)

That's no bad thing.

[ Age could just as well mean wisdom as it does crankiness. God knows she's more than capable of both and then some when the days have grown long and the war cold. But only one of the two apply here; and even though she still feels restless, this is the first bit of peace and quiet she's had in hours. (The day does feel endless: she's essentially lived two, hasn't she?)

She's not the only one. She'd be surprised if anyone was sleeping soundly around here, working to solve... whatever this is. ]

You did keep a level head in the basement. [ Given the circumstances. ] I know men who wouldn't have handled the situation half as well.

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